


Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High (or Need Someone to Bail You Out)

by starryeyeddreamers



Series: The Cradle of Liberty [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Boston, Fluff and Angst, Idiots, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, worst relationship dynamics ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:51:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryeyeddreamers/pseuds/starryeyeddreamers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire and Enjolras only call each other when one is high or the other needs someone to pick him up from the police station. They probably should talk about that on the phone instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High (or Need Someone to Bail You Out)

“Grantaire.”  
“Enjolras!” A sniffle.  
“It’s three in the morning, what do you want?”  
“You.” The ending syllable was drawn out and ended with a heavy sigh.. A siren wailed on the other end of the line making Enjolras wince.  
“Are you drunk?” His sharp tone made himself cringe and he could only imagine Grantaire’s face and cowering shoulders.  
“No, better.” His tone was proud, his words slow as if speaking was requiring extraordinary effort. Enjolras could only imagine what the other man had taken this time, not after seeing Joly’s notebook that chronicled all the bad reactions to various drugs that Grantaire had ever had.  
“Where are you?” Enjolras already had the phone pinned between his shoulder and ear as he pulled on his boots. Only the sound of the wind and sirens coming from the other end of the line.

Great. Grantaire was high and misplaced.

“Dorchester. Maybe. No Mattapan!’ Enjolras let out a huff.  
“Jesus Christ. How the fuck did you...Nevermind I’m coming to get you.”  
“Don’t need to do that Enj” Grantaire slurred. “Twas just calling for a chat.”  
“At three in the morning? What do you see?”  
“Morton St?” Grantaire giggled. “Why are you up so late Enj?”  
“None of your damn business. Now walk to an intersection and find another street sign.”  
“Wow.” Enjolras heard teeth clamp shut.  
“Grantaire?” He nearly knocked a bowl off the table as he lunged for his car keys. “Grantaire.”  
Nothing but the wind.

 

****  
“Yello?”  
“Grantaire. South Boston station. Bring bail.” Click. Grantaire flopped back down on the bed, eyes blankly on the ceiling.

He blinked at the bright blue light of his alarm clock on the bedside table. Three o’clock in the morning. He huffed at his own pathetic obedience. He was a glorified golden retriever.

He signed all the correct papers and signed a check from the account Combeferre had given him access to for this very reason. The clock ticked menacingly from its perch over the main desk as Grantaire waited on the hard bench. 

Twenty minutes and hundreds of foot taps on the linoleum later, Enjolras stumbled out from the door that Grantaire knew from personal experience led to some particularly unsanitary holding cells. Well, no, not stumbled. Grantaire wished Enjolras had stumbled, so did the cop leading him out and the officer watching from the desk. The cops wanted the satisfaction, Grantaire wanted to see the man act like any regular person would after a couple hours in lockup. 

But Enjolras was giving no one that satisfaction. His hair, with its almost ridiculous undercut, was matted with blood. More blood was crusted on his face where it had dripped down from his nose. A butterfly stitch had been graciously bestowed on his split brow by the BPD. But for all Enjolras’ hatred of monarchy, he held his head up like a goddamn king, complete with tyrannical wrath in his eyes. He didn’t wring his wrists when they were released from a pair of cuffs, not one molecule of satisfaction was given to these officers. 

Enjolras and the Boston Police Department were on less than friendly terms. They, however, loved Grantaire, a verified benevolent regular, who gave a wave to the officers as he went to catch up with Enjolras’ proud strides that already had him out the door and in the vestibule. 

“Hey slow down buddy.” Enjolras whipped back around on the dark street. A movement that from his wincing, was not well thought out. “You do know it would be easier to get along with the cops?”  
“Yeah, I’ll remember that the next time they watch from their cruiser as three guys gang up on one, and then arrest the one.” Grantaire sucked in a breath, but then shook his head.  
“You throw the first punch?” Enjolras squared his shoulders and Grantaire tutted. Then his eyes zeroed in on the slight limp in Enjolras’ gait.  
“Doesn’t matter!” Enjolras gesticulated with wild hands. “Not when they’re threatening someone verbally.” He rolled his shoulder back, regretting moving so quickly. In his haze of pain, he stumbled on a loose brick on the sidewalk. Grantaire’s arms shot out and grabbed a skinny arm before it and the body attached to it collapsed somewhere on the street in Southie. 

Grantaire straightened him, but not before Enjolras yelped as his already injured ankle twisted again. Grantaire knew he was definitely concussed from the way he slumped into Grantaire’s offered side and a strong arm was allowed to be wrapped around his lithe waist. 

“You’re lucky I’m watching Bahorel’s.” He shifted Enjolras’ weight to support him better as he led him up the stairs to the apartment in question. “You gonna tell me what the hell you were doing in Southie at this hour?”

Enjolras slumped into one of the two rickety chairs that resided in Bahorel’s “kitchen”. He rolled his beautiful eyes and Grantaire’s breath hitched as he took in the patchwork quilt of bruises that was forming on the other man’s skin. “Surveillance.” He stated. 

“What does that even mean? Who did you get in a fight with?”

“I don’t know, some of MT’s gang.” Grantaire barely resisted the urge to shake the other man’s shoulder violently. He instead chose to clench his fists as he drudged up a facecloth for Enjolras’ battered face.  
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Grantaire’s tone was low and his words slow. “No wonder the cop sat there, you fucking idiot.” He had worked up to a shout now. “You know all of Southie is in that guy’s pocket.” Enjolras winced at the cold cloth and opened his mouth to retort. “No, sorry, shut up, you’re clearly suicidal.”

“You didn’t have to bail me out if you think I’m such an idiot.” Enjolras spat through gritted teeth.

“Why’d you call me in the first place?” Grantaire’s tone was gruff but if Enjolras had glanced up he would have seen a tender expression.  
“I knew you’d come.” Grantaire’s face hardened.

***

“Ennnnnnj?” The voice was muffled by the roar of wind.  
“What? What do you want?”  
“It’s windy up here.” Enjolras smashed his hand the pile of books he had been sleeping on in his haste to stand up.  
“Where’s here!” No answer. “Grantaire! Where. are. you.”  
“Wow, the view here is glorious.”  
“Where. Where Grantaire.” A giggle could be heard over the dull roar.  
“That almost rhymed, been spending too much time with Prouvaire huh?” A pause in which Enjolras could make out scuffling of shoes.”  
“The water looks so nice, I might go for a swim.” Enjolras paced back in forth in the kitchen, his loud movements awoke Combeferre who poked his head into the room, brows knitted in concern.  
“Grantaire. No.” Enjolras couldn’t help but growl in frustration. “Please sit down.” He reconsidered. “Unless you’re in the middle of the street.”  
“Wow, whatever that guy gave me was reallllllllly sweet. You should try it.” Enjolras’ half scream only alarmed Combeferre further. “Have you ever been sailing?” Grantaire said wistfully. “I haven’t been in ages.”  
“No. Grantaire, are you on a bridge?”  
“Maybe.I wonder how far up I am.”  
“Grantaire.” Enjolras’ tone was frantic now and he couldn’t help it.  
“Enjolras?” His child-like tone brought tears to Enjolras’ eyes and he forcefully pawed them off of his face. This was ridiculous, Grantaire was probably in some rando’s bedroom, on a particularly vivid acid trip. No need to worry, or for God’s sake, cry.  
“Yes?”  
“I’m sorry that you hate me you know.”  
“I don’t hate you, you know that.”  
“No.” Another pause. “Enjolras? How long’s a smoot?”  
Enjolras took off with Combeferre hot on his heels.

***  
“Grantaire, are you drunk?”  
“Enjolras. It is ten in the morning, I know I’m bad but I’m not that bad.”  
“How do you feel about picking me up?”  
“Anything for you, babe.”  
“Grantaire be serious.”  
“You’re the one who’s calling me from yet another police station.”  
Enjolras growled an address and was in Grantaire’s passenger seat within the hour.  
Neither of them spoke about the phone calls they seemed to only reserve for each other.

***  
The agreement wouldn’t last.

In the middle of a meeting. That’s when the bastard decided to bring it up. Grantaire had been arguing, with fantastic articulation Jehan would comment later, and that’s when Enjolras decided to bring up whatever agreement they had going.

“Grantaire I know you hate me and everything I believe in, but surely you must see the drug problem in these neighborhoods, you’ve lived it.” Grantaire’s mouth had dropped open. Several of their friends shook their heads at the beginning and end of Enjolras’ statement where they had been nodding in assent earlier. 

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know, you’re familiar with these neighborhoods, you’re the one most acquainted with narcotics.”

“Still not following why this is relevant.” Grantaire roared. “You’re a bunch of idealistic college kids who aren’t from here? How the hell do you think you’re going to stop organized crime in Boston? And what the fuck does that argument have to do with my knowledge of narcotics or my supposed hatred of you?” His hand was clenched on the edge of the table. 

“I don’t know, Grantaire, why don’t you tell everyone when you called me last. High as a kite, standing on the rail of the Mass Ave bridge? How you’re so far gone you don’t remember your name?” His voice is ragged and a silence has fallen on the cafe as Enjolras shouts with a ferocity that matches his reputation. “Why’d you only call me when you’re high?” His voice had dropped in what any outsider would regard as plea, confusing those who knew him. All eyes were on him, but his were boring into Grantaire’s across the room.

“We’re going to do this?” Grantaire stalked closer but still too far that Enjolras couldn’t grab him to shake him. “How about you?” He gestures wildly. “You never call them?” A wide arm movement to indicate the rest of their friends. “Why’d you only call me when you need someone to bail you out?” He shook his head and offered a sardonic smile. “That’s all I am to you, a glorified bail bondsman, a man to do your bidding that you don’t have to offer the time of day.”  
Enjolras closes the gap between them, grabbing Grantaire by his coat’s lapel and dragging him out of the cafe.

“Fuck you Enjolras, why the fuck would you?” But Grantaire is cut off by the look in Enjolras’ eyes. If he didn’t know better he’d think it was hurt.

“Why?!” He grabbed Grantaire by the shoulders shaking him violently. “Why?” His tone is softer and his grip loosens as he backs away.

Grantaire huffed and pulled out a cigarette, ignoring the question. He finally looked up when Enjolras slides down the brick wall to the ground. Grantaire slid down and joined him, offering him a drag. Enjolras took the cigarette, hands shaking as he brought it to his lips.

“Honestly?” Grantaire’s voice cracked as he spoke. “Because I never expected you to pick up.”

Enjolras sucked in a breath and goes back to avoiding eye contact. He looked up only when nudged in the side by the other man. Grantaire beckons his voice with a nod.

“I knew you would come.” Grantaire’s face fell. Enjolras backpedaled, trying to find a way out of this mess. “No, not like that.” He choked out a ragged breath. “I wanted to see you first. Everytime.”

Grantaire frowned and just pulled the other man against him to protect against the bitter chill of the winter wind.

“Maybe we should try calling each other for different reasons.” Enjolras whispered as he dug through his pockets. Grantaire said nothing as Enjolras pulled out his phone and proceeded to dial. He only moved when his own pocket began vibrating.  
"Hello?" He questioned.  
"Hi Grantaire." Grantaire rolled his eyes but played along as one might with a toddler. "I was a huge dick today, and I apologize for shouting at you." Grantaire urged him on with his narrowed eyes. "In front of everyone." Enjolras cleared his throat.  
"Ok."  
"Ok. And I'm currently not in jail and using my only phone call to call you."  
"Good to hear." Grantaire allowed himself a small smile. "And I'm perfectly sober."  
"Grantaire?" The man nodded. "I don't hate you. I'm awful and I actually feel quite the opposite." He cleared his throat again. "I think I want to take you on a date." Enjolras whispered into his cell. Grantaire smiled sheepishly into his.  
"You think?" At Enjolras' scowl he continued. "I clearly don't hate you either, but everyone with eyes knew that."  
"Grantaire?"  
"Hmm?"  
"I'm going to kiss you now."  
Click. The phone call ended without a goodbye. But when had a call between them ever ended with a goodbye?


End file.
